


The Living Gods of Boston

by Yung_Mofftiss (OnWednesdaysWeStudyinPink)



Category: Fringe
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-30
Updated: 2009-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-14 22:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnWednesdaysWeStudyinPink/pseuds/Yung_Mofftiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Fringe version of Shirley Jackson's "The Lottery". Prompt: human sacrifice</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Living Gods of Boston

Their faces were smeared with the blood of the three white dogs that had been killed and brought to them, their feet rubbed with the finest olive oil from last year's harvest. Peter—who was giving Olivia a piggyback ride as they walked through the village’s orchard so that she wouldn't have to touch the ground—continued telling them about the dream he'd had last night as Astrid continued picking the small spring flowers popping up at the bottom of the cherry trees. She was making wreathes for them to wear in their hair that afternoon when the equinox happened and also enjoying the feeling of the damp earth between her toes. It had rained last night, which was always a good sign.

The air was still but there was definitely electricity in the atmosphere; the three hundred or so villagers of Boston were already up and about, enthusiastically preparing themselves for the day’s celebration and Astrid, Peter, and Olivia were no exception. While the walk to Walter’s cottage only took ten minutes, every year on this day it seemed to take forever, an excruciating wait to reach their destination. Astrid was hoping that Walter had strawberries for breakfast because she’d been craving them since she woke up.

As they stepped out of the orchard and onto a dirt path leading to Walter’s cottage, Peter’s hand found hers as Olivia’s fingers stroked Astrid hair. Astrid couldn’t imagine loving two people more; they’d known each other forever, longer than forever. Best friends, family, lovers…she turned to look at them, fondly smiling at both as the cottage came into view, the sounds of birds singing pleasantly from the trees.

Walter was waiting at the front door in his labcoat. "I was beginning to wonder if the three of you had become lost!"

Peter smiled as they walked up the front path. "Olivia wanted to take the scenic route."

“Ave Peter, the bringer of the rain,” Walter greeted his son, lowering his eyes in reverence as they entered the house.

“Ave Astrid, the brightness of the sun,” he said as Peter took Olivia over to the couch and Astrid touched his shoulder gently.

“And Ave Olivia, this year’s Offering.” Walter knelt before the blonde and used a small penlight to examine at her pupils. “Did you sleep well, my dear?”

Olivia shrugged. “It's always hard to get rest the night before. I never get used to it.”

“Of course not. Breakfast?”

Walter brought over a large tray covered in food, setting it down for the four of them to eat; Peter began to add sugar to his morning coffee while Astrid selected a few raspberries to eat off the tips of her fingers. Olivia as always picked the sweet pastries, something Walter had made this morning and was dusted with sugar and cinnamon.

Their existence had always been dreamlike, supernatural, beautiful. Their days were spent completely carefree, happy, ready to become the ultimate sacrifice their village needed. Peter’s hand accidentally brushed hers and he gave her an affectionate smile. Any other morning she might have nuzzled at his sweet smelling hair, but today was all about Olivia so she turned her focus to kissing the blonde’s fingers and was rewarded with a pleased sound.

“If you want to see Olivia, you can. She only has a few more hours left before she’s ready,” Walter offered.

Breakfast was abandoned temporarily for the three of them to follow Walter upstairs; the second floor was brightly lit from the morning sun, everything glowing a brilliant gold. In a glass sarcophagus surrounded by large wreathes of flowers and lit candles lie the still form of Olivia, lights inside the chamber illuminating her skin so that she looked like a spirit. Astrid and Peter’s sarcophagi were in the room also, but it was too early for them to be exposed to light, so theirs were covered. Slowly, the three approached the Olivia’s clone, admiring the identical creation, a marvel of science.

“It’s good luck to see the clone, you know,” Walter reminded them and Olivia traced the glass.

Olivia had been barely a year old when she was first Offered and by all accounts that year’s harvest had been the best ever recorded, so DNA was stored to keep reproducing her along with Peter and Astrid, two other Offerings that had produced record amounts of crops and good luck. The same three people had been sacrificed year after year, clones of the original infants, alternating between years and had even been allowed to age until they reached a point where they were satisfied with the state of their incarnations—Peter and Olivia had chosen the time where they were almost thirty and Astrid had stuck with twenty-six because she thought it was a beautiful number. She’d been cloned so many times that she’d lost count, she’d been sacrificed so many times that she’d lost count.  _“Born to die,”_ Walter had once told her.

*********

On the dais, naked and covered in ochre patterns, Astrid felt as if her heart was ready to pound through her ribcage. Her palms were sweaty as she clutched the antler handle of the knife, watching as the silent gathering of villagers waited patiently for Olivia and Peter to appear. The villagers were each clutching their own bowl that would collect the blood spilled before the hour was over, thirsty for the life force of the fertile goddess that would soon sate them.

Mayor Sharp and Mayor Broyles stood at the base of the dais off to her left, both wearing the deep red they wore every year on this day; it was less depressing than the black they usually sported, but it wasn’t any less ominous. Mayor Broyles eyes momentarily met hers, but quickly left when the crowd started parting. Astrid’s breath caught in her throat as she spotted Peter carrying a pale and naked Liv towards her.

Olivia wasn’t scared, Astrid could tell this, but there was always the nervousness of the pain and rush of death. It wasn’t something you could get used to—the best was being prepared for it. Astrid had gone last year and even though this body had never experienced the trauma, there still was a phantom ache that occurred right beneath her breastbone. Olivia’s arms were wrapped around Peter’s neck and she was looking at the alter a bit apprehensively, but obliviously trying to put on a brave face for everyone’s sake. All Astrid could offer was a comforting smile.

Walter was close by, ready to attach the small sensors and diodes to Olivia’s brain to record every memory to the final moment so it could be loaded into the new body. The alter was constructed so that the blood from one of the living gods would run down small grooves in the stone to collect in two small stone bowls at the bottom of the dais, to be collected in the small copper bowls the villagers had.

The knife in her hand was as old as the ritual itself, first used in Europe and then brought here to America, hundreds, maybe thousands of years old. It had been used every year for the Offering, the crude metal blade sharp and hungry to be thrust into the hot flesh of a living body. Peter lay Olivia on the stone alter, warmed by the sun and Walter began to quickly attach the sensors to Olivia’s scalp.

“I’ll see you in a few hours,” Peter whispered before planting a kiss on her lips and hurrying off with Walter to stand in the crowd.

Astrid’s eyes met Olivia’s and they smiled at one another; Astrid raised the knife high and plunged it deep into Olivia’s chest, tearing the abdominal cavity open before Olivia had a time to gasp in shock. She quickly snatched at the beating heart, severing the arteries with a practiced finesse to hold the heart high above her head, the last of its blood pumping out onto her hands and down her arms. Peter came up the steps and as Olivia lay there, a smile still on her face, Astrid offered the palm of her hand out to him. He cupped her hand and drank the rest of the blood, licking the last of it from her skin. When he looked up, his lips and chin now a wet red, he smiled and she grinned back. As the villagers gathered around to accept their small gift of blood, Walter hurried off with the memory recorder to imbed them into the new body that waited back at the cottage.

As she left the dais, still clutching the heart that would be buried beneath the great yew tree at the entrance of town and the knife that would be returned to the town’s library, she could hear Mayor Broyles and Mayor Sharp stacking the branches from the yew tree around the base of the platform. It wasn’t long before the crackling of fire and the pungent odor of burning flesh filled the air.

Villagers who had licked their bowls clean, mouths covered with blood began to dance, stomping their feet, heads lolling back in ecstasy as the power of Olivia’s blood filled them. The dancing became more frenzied, hands clapping as they spun wildly, laughing and smiling. Hands reached out to touch her skin as she became caught up in the energy, spotting Peter momentarily in the crowd as they danced, their eyes meeting for the briefest of seconds before they were pulled in separate directions. Astrid couldn’t wait for Olivia’s clone to finish rebuilding; it wouldn’t be until this evening that they could pick her up and take her back to their home so they could fall asleep in bed together.

Olivia’s body burned bright, small flakes of ash showering them as the villagers continued their celebration. Astrid’s mouth tasted of iron and she wanted water, but didn’t mind waiting if it meant she was going to stay swept up in this euphoria that the anticipation of the village’s fertility brought.

Next year was Peter's turn.


End file.
